Tongue Tied
by adancingflame
Summary: [LBD] It takes her a while to actually say the words. (thanks to Gigi Darcy's twitter and Caitlin for title inspiration.)


It takes her a while to actually say the words. She clicks the pause button and giggles and turns to look at him, to really look at him. He has a smile on she's never seen before (but will come to see almost every day.) She smiles back.  
"Hi," she says, nervously.  
"Hi," he says, calmly, confidently, continuing to smile gently at her.  
She sits back down. For some reason, without the little red light shining back at her from the camera, she feels shy. When he puts his hand on hers and lightly rubs the base of her thumb, though, she feels a little bolder, and turns to face him again.  
"Happy birthday," he says.  
"You already said that," she says, smiling. Why can't she stop smiling? She feels like such an idiot, but she can't seem to wipe it off even for a moment. It's already taking everything she has to keep herself from giggling.  
"I know. I wanted to say it again. Do you think Charlotte will mind that I interrupted your night?"  
"You know, I think she'll be alright." She tilts her head back toward him and their lips meet again, softly.  
After several minutes, she can't help but sigh, "this is the best present I've ever gotten," and Darcy laughs into the crook of her neck.

After they finally come up for air and Lizzie finds that Charlotte and Lydia have quietly gone out to see a movie at the theatre a few blocks over, after Darcy insists on taking her out to properly celebrate her birthday and points out that they're certainly dressed for it, Lizzie still can't bring herself to say it.

They're in one of the nicest restaurants in her little town - even though she put in real effort to direct him to the Olive Garden, and almost managed it until he recognized the street and laughingly had to pull a U-turn - and it's lit beautifully and they've been talking more than they ever have in one sitting. After they share a slice of cheesecake, after he drives her home and kisses her again and whispers it in her ear, gently sighs "I love you, Lizzie Bennet," she still can't say it. She nervously laughs and they make plans for brunch and he drives away in his sleek rental car into the night. It takes her fifteen minutes of standing numbly on the porch for her to go inside, and she only manages to because her squealing, adorbs little sister pulls her inside.

It's not that she doesn't _want _to say it. It's not that she doesn't feel it, either. It's filling her up inside as she lays in bed and stares at the ceiling.  
_I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you, William Darcy. _  
It's because she's never said it to anyone before. She's certainly told it to her family, to Charlotte and her friends, but she's never looked someone in the eye and told them that she loved them in a romantic sense. It's a foreign sensation, so strange that it took her weeks to even recognize it. Alone in her bedroom, that is actually her mother's relaxation room (but is doing nothing to make Lizzie feel relaxed), she is wracked with fear and nerves and manages to sleep a grand total of three hours before she drags herself out of bed for brunch.

She doesn't say it at brunch, or while they walk in the park for hours after, and she doesn't say it at dinner with her family that night, either. The day is filled with playful hugs and kisses and easy conversation, and she never feels like he is pressuring her to say it. During dinner she is too distracted by her mother to even think about saying anything. Miraculously, her mother keeps the hints to a minimum - she seems so shocked at this turn of events, of Lizzie bringing Darcy home, that she can't bring herself to do much more than carry on a polite and warm conversation and plead with him to eat more helpings. Mr. Bennet and Lydia outdo themselves, sharing funny stories and keeping the night running more smoothly than Lizzie could have believed possible.

Despite the successful dinner, Lizzie can't bring herself to say it. She's so overwhelmed by the past 48 hours that it seems just too daunting to even think about saying.  
It's not until he turns to leave, again, that she realizes how much she hates seeing him go, without him knowing how she really feels.

"Ah - wait. Darcy?" she ventures, nervously, trotting from the doorframe after him down the driveway.  
"Lizzie? Is everything alright?" His eyes scan her face.  
"I love you," she blurts out, and immediately scrunches her eyes shut. She had imagined it much less spastic, much less rushed.  
His eyes widen and his mouth opens to respond, but she grabs his hand to quiet him.  
"I love you," she says, again. "I love you, Darcy." Oh God, it's like a dam has broken or a record won't stop skipping. "I love you?" Oh my God, why did that one sound like a question?

He laughs, but she knows he isn't teasing her, and it is just the sound she needs to calm down and take a breath.

"I know," he says, and as he leans down to kiss her and wraps his arms around her waist, all her fears wash away once and for all. This time, when he turns to go, he holds her hand and takes her with him.


End file.
